


Open Up the Dime, Stimulate Your Mind

by problematic_pleasures



Category: Spider-Man: Into the Spider-Verse (2018)
Genre: Age Difference, Coming In Pants, Frottage, M/M, PWP, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Shotgunning, Smoking, Underage Drug Use, Weed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-24
Updated: 2021-01-24
Packaged: 2021-03-16 02:54:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,016
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28949256
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/problematic_pleasures/pseuds/problematic_pleasures
Summary: He realizes belatedly, as he reaches for Miles, that the pot is already starting to go to his head. He knows in his bones that this is a bad idea but he just can’t bring himself to care.
Relationships: Miles Morales/Peter B. Parker
Comments: 5
Kudos: 40





	Open Up the Dime, Stimulate Your Mind

**Author's Note:**

> look i just wanted to write some miles/peter b shotgunning so this is pwp of exactly that. this serves no purpose other than to be a good time. thanks to my beta!

“What’s  _ that _ ?”

The only reason Peter doesn’t jump at the sound of Miles’ voice is because of his carefully honed instincts. He long ago trained the urge to startle out of himself—it was crucial for his line of work to never show fear, never slip up.

Okay, so maybe he fumbles with the joint between his fingers a little bit, and maybe he flinches just a tad. But no one has to know; he doesn’t even think Miles noticed, given the way the kid’s eyes are locked onto the blunt.

Peter can’t help but snort. “You’ve never seen a joint before?” He asks before remembering that Miles is, tried and true, a good kid. Sure, a little light vandalism here and there, and there’s the whole _masked vigilante_ thing—but aside from that, Miles is a pretty picture-perfect son. He’s probably never even had a sip of beer. 

“I’ve seen them,” Miles says in a tone that says very clearly that he hasn’t. “Just...never in action.”

Peter laughs again and leans back against his couch. “What’re you doing here, kid?” 

Miles settles on the couch beside him. “I was bored, figured you wouldn’t mind the visit.” 

His tone isn’t quite pitying, but it’s close enough to make Peter bristle. Ever since his last attempt to make things work with MJ fizzled out, Miles has been hanging around a bit more or inviting Peter to his dimension for some hangouts. It’s pathetic—pathetic that Peter doesn’t really have any other friends, pathetic that Peter agrees every time—not to mention _weird_. Miles may be sixteen now, almost seventeen, but that doesn’t make it any less strange for him to be hanging around a guy nearing his mid-forties. 

Peter shrugs off the shame just like he always does; it’ll slink back to him in the dead of night and weigh heavy on him like a brick wall, but he’ll deal with that when the time comes. Besides, going to Miles’ dimension is the only way to keep getting burgers from the place that closed in Peter’s dimension. 

_ Right,  _ that’s _the reason you keep going back_ , a traitorous voice in Peter’s head hisses. 

Peter ignores it and reaches for the lighter he’d dropped to the floor in his surprise. “I don’t mind,” he says as he flicks the lighter a few times. “Although I don’t know if I’ll be great company.” 

Look, it’s been a hard week. His Doc Ock had busted out of the Raft and brought Shocker and Vulture along with him. On top of that was the typical petty crime, and then Peter had to bust a money laundering scheme happening at the Bugle. Suffice to say, it’s been his busiest week in a while and Peter had planned to take the day off high as a kite and vegging out on his couch. 

He can still do that, although he’s a little apprehensive with Miles at his side. 

His apprehension only grows when Miles says, softly, “I’ve never been high.” 

Peter takes a drag off the joint before answering. Holding the smoke in his lungs, he replies, “I’m not surprised. Drugs are bad.” He laughs as he lets out the smoke. 

Miles’ eyes narrow. “You should show me.” 

Peter coughs as the last of the smoke leaves his lungs. He hits his chest and hacks for only a second before looking at Miles warily. “Miles,” he starts.

“C’mon,” Miles whines. “Wouldn’t you rather I do it here, where you can look after me and know I’m safe, rather than me going out to like, some party?”

“Do they even have parties at Brooklyn Visions?” Peter mumbles. He already knows he’s going to say yes.

Miles scoots closer on the couch; he clearly doesn’t know he’s already won. “It’ll be fun!” 

Peter rolls his eyes. There are a lot of things getting a sixteen-year-old high could be, Peter isn’t so sure _fun_ is really one of them. Doesn’t matter, though, because Peter has already resigned himself to saying yes. He shifts on the couch to face Miles. “I’ll light it for you, just inhale slowly. Don’t try and do it for too long, cuz it’s gonna burn.”

Miles’ eyes are wide. Peter bites back a laugh.

“Unless you’re scared,” Peter says, already moving away, pulling the joint away from Miles.

Miles’ hand snaps to grab his wrist and hold him still. “I’m not scared.” He tugs Peter’s hand closer. 

It’s not really what Peter had in mind—he meant for Miles to take the joint. Miles doesn’t seem inclined to do that, though, so Peter just lifts the joint to his protege’s lips. He waits till he gets a nod from Miles before flicking the lighter and bringing the flame to the cherry of the joint. 

Miles inhales definitely too fast and too hard. Peter pulls back quickly so as not to drop the joint and watches as Miles coughs, his cheeks flushing red. Peter drops the lighter and reaches out to pound against Miles’ back until the smoke clears and his coughs are less wet and deep. 

“So that’s a no-go, then,” Peter says eventually.

Miles pouts. “C’mon, man,” he whines. “Show me. _Teach_ me.”

Peter’s neck burns a little shamefully. His inability to teach Miles much of anything has always haunted him; Miles is too smart for his own good. “You’re a brat,” Peter says. 

He realizes belatedly, as he reaches for Miles, that the pot is already starting to go to his head. He knows in his bones that this is a bad idea but he just can’t bring himself to care. He secures a hand around Miles’ waist and tugs. The kid goes scrambling into his lap with a yelp before settling his hands on Peter’s shoulders. His thighs tremble where they press against Peter’s lap. 

“Oh,” Miles breathes. 

“This is easiest,” Peter mumbles. “You trust me?” 

Miles nods, eyes still wide and mouth hanging open. 

“Okay.” Peter grapples for the lighter where he’d dropped it onto the couch. He’s painfully aware of Miles’ eyes on him as he lights the joint again for another drag. He takes one just for himself, holds it in his lungs a moment before letting out a blissful exhale. “Okay,” Peter says, taking another drag, “I’m going to kiss you.” 

Peter doesn’t bother waiting for a reply. He holds the lighter between his fingers and cups the back of Miles’ head and pulls him into a kiss. The kid goes easily. He kisses like he’s done this before, which makes a weird mixture of pride and jealousy well up in Peter’s chest. Miles opens his mouth quickly and Peter seals their mouths together before exhaling into his mouth. 

He thinks, _I didn’t explain shotgunning to him_ , but it doesn’t matter. Miles takes to this like a fish to water. He inhales steadily, takes what Peter gives him without a single hiccup. Miles moves closer as he drinks in the smoke. His hands clutch at Peter’s back, fisting in his shirt. 

“Breathe, Miles,” Peter says as he breaks the kiss. Miles obeys with a whine, a thin stream of smoke trickling from his lips. Peter’s thoughts are getting foggy and heavy, his limbs pleasantly loose. He wonders how long it’ll be before Miles feels the same. “You did so good, Miles.”

Miles practically melts against him, lips pressed to Peter’s neck. “That was...intense.” Miles moves back slowly. “Can we do it again?” 

Peter only nods. He repeats the process—the flick of the lighter, drag of the joint, pressing his mouth to Miles’. It’s as easy as breathing to kiss Miles again. Dangerously easy to lick into his mouth and chase the taste of weed mixed with Koca-Soda that Miles must have drunk before he came over. Miles gasps into the kiss and the smoke slips out between their lips. Peter isn’t sure how much Miles inhaled but he doesn’t really care. 

Peter wraps an arm around Miles’ waist and tugs him impossibly closer until there’s not even a hair’s breadth between them. He can feel Miles’ erection pressing at the front of his jeans, just like Miles can probably feel Peter’s cock poking him in the ass. 

“Pete,” Miles gasps, “Peter.” He starts to grind and writhe then, another natural talent. His eyes flutter shut and he exhales shakily against Peter’s mouth.  _“Peter.”_

Peter groans. His tongue is tripping over itself to reply but he can’t form the words. He wants to tell Miles how good his name sounds on his lips; he wants to tell Miles how good he feels in his lap. He wants to take Miles apart and detail every step to him, from laying him out on the sheets to getting three fingers inside him and he’s begging for more. Peter is overwhelmed, not just by his high but by the feelings. Sure, it’s hardly the first time he’s thought these things—he’s a very imperfect man, sue him—but he’s never been so close to Miles while thinking them. He’s never had Miles in his lap like this, never had his hands on the kid or his mouth on Miles’ neck. 

“Peter, please.”

Peter isn’t totally sure what Miles is asking for. His spidey senses that are usually a godsend in bed are dulled and hazy. He leans back long enough to drop the joint into the ashtray onto the table beside him. He lets the lighter clatter to the floor. He brings both hands to Miles’ ass and grips him tight. 

“C’mon,” Peter murmurs, “wanna feel you come, Miles.” 

Miles shudders in his arms and his hips work faster. Tiny, tight circles as he grinds against Peter’s cock, so close to fucking and yet so far. Peter lets out a groan of his own at the thought of getting his dick inside Miles, the sounds he would make, how he’d take it so well and look so good doing it. 

“Close,” Miles manages to gasp. That’s all the warning Peter gets before Miles is going stiff in his arms. He lets out a choked cry, throws his head back. There’s the tell-tale wetness of come staining Miles’ pants and it’s hotter than it should be, making a teenager cream his pants. It shouldn’t make Peter’s dick throb, but it does.

Peter shifts his grip to Miles’ hips instead and thrusts up against him. He closes his eyes and can see his fantasy perfectly behind his eyelids: fucking up into Miles, bouncing the kid in his lap. His fantasy is bolstered by Miles’ every whimper and needy gasp, the way his hands scramble to cling to any inch of Peter they possibly can.

“Peter,” Miles moans, “please.”

Peter groans and buries his face against Miles’ neck as he comes. It’s humiliating, a little bit, to be staining his sweatpants with come, all because of a horny teenager writhing around in his lap. Humiliation is nothing new to Peter, though, so he rides it like a wave along with the pleasure that crests inside him and crashes like a wave. After a few rippling moments of bliss, he falls back against the couch and Miles curls up against his chest. 

Despite the high filling his head and the way his orgasm has left him loose-limbed, Peter combs a hand through Miles’ hair. “How you feeling, bud?”

Miles laughs softly. “So good.” When he lifts his head to look at Peter, there’s already red rimming his eyes, a crooked grin on his face.

“Oh boy,” Peter says with a snicker of his own. “You’re high as shit.”

Miles laughs again and hides his face against Peter’s neck. “Yeah,” he says, “it’s great.” 

Peter knows he’s made a mistake and he knows it’ll haunt him for the rest of his life; he knows once the high wears off, he’ll be consumed with guilt and shame and fear. He knows all of that waits just over the hill for him, a few scant hours away. For now, though, he’d rather live in the moment. 

Peter sighs contentedly. “It is great,” he agrees. 


End file.
